


Two Years

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Developing Relationship, Drug Addiction, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery, Relapse ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Grantaire got clean, but the pull of addiction is as strong as ever, until he runs into Enjolras, who helps him reconsider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Years

**Author's Note:**

> My usual disclaimer for anything of this nature: drug addiction and drug use differs from person to person. Anything I write about it is based solely on my own experiences and is not, nor should it be taken as, representative of all people who suffer from drug addiction

Two years.

It had been two years.

Two years to the day since he had last slid a needle into the crook of his arm, two years since he had last disappeared into a haze of nothingness, two years since he had told Jehan in a quiet, broken voice, “I think I need help.”

Two years of recovery, they told him. It sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

As he stepped out of his NA meeting, hand clutching the shiny new NA chip that he had been given, he had never felt more like a fraud. Not even when he received his one month chip, when he was jonesing for it so badly that had the chip been money he probably would’ve tried to barter it for drugs right then and there. But now, with the far too chipper words “Clean and Serene for 2 Years” burning in his palm, he felt anything but serene.

He felt it like an itch, an itch too deep to scratch, and it wasn’t that he wanted to be high, necessarily, it was that he wanted…well, he wanted to not be him for awhile.

He called Jehan.

He probably should have called his sponsor, called someone else (hell, anyone else), but Jehan was the one who had been there through it all, not just as a friend, not just in the way that the rest of Les Amis had been there for him (even if most of them didn’t know the specifics of what he was going through), but Jehan had _lived_ it, had ventured far enough into the darkness with Grantaire to understand, just a little.

Grantaire didn’t like to remember those days, the endless parade of shitty apartments and shitty alleyways, dressed in clothing three sizes too big for him, doing what he needed to do to go from being high to getting high with nothing in between. Jehan was there in those memories, in that time when he gave in to his own melancholy, lips chapped and eyes vacant, together making a series of terrible life decisions.

But Jehan had pulled himself out of it, had never been as far down into the darkness as Grantaire had been ( _never really been an addict_ , his mind supplied, but Grantaire hated that word, and hated thinking of himself that way even more, even if it was true, because addict and addiction sounded so clean and precise and anyone who had ever experienced it could tell you it was the exact opposite).

Luckily, Jehan answered after only two rings. “Hello?”

“It’s me.” Grantaire took a deep breath, trying to figure out how best to word all of the things that he wanted to say. “It’s been two years.”

There was only the briefest of pauses from Jehan before he said cautiously, “I know. You went to your meeting?”

“Yeah.” Grantaire rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just…”

He trailed off, unsure how to continue, thinking he probably shouldn’t have even started. “Do you need me to come get you?” Jehan asked quietly. “Are you going to do something stupid?”

Grantaire couldn’t help himself, replying glibly, “Define stupid.”

“Grantaire.”

Jehan’s voice was soft, but there was a rebuke in there, and Grantaire flinched. “I’m sorry,” he said, and truer words really had not been spoken because Grantaire _was_ sorry, Grantaire was sorry for everything he had done and for everything he was very, very likely to do in the future. “I…I shouldn’t have called.”

Now Jehan’s voice bordered on exasperation. “You ass, if the only thing you’ve gotten out of this is that you shouldn’t call me, you couldn’t be more wrong.” He paused, waiting for Grantaire to say something, then sighed and said, “I’m coming to pick you up.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Grantaire said, scuffing his shoe on the sidewalk. “Seriously Jehan. I’ll see you tomorrow. And I really am sorry.”

And as he hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket, he was already mapping out the best route to the bad part of town, where he would be able to get whatever he wanted for a reasonable price.

He hadn’t lied. He was sorry.

He just had never said what he was sorry for.

* * *

 

Not even twenty minutes later, he had already scored, the baggie of white powder burning in his pocket just as strongly as the NA chip burned in his other pocket.

He was completely fucked up.

He didn’t care.

With his head down he walked as fast as he dared, full of the mindless drive to get back to his apartment, trying to remember if he still had a needle hidden somewhere (he was pretty sure he did because god knew he had gone into this whole clean and sober thing completely half-assed) when he ran into someone.

“Shit,” he swore, hand instantly checking to make sure his stash was still there before he even noticed that the guy he ran into was on the ground. “Oh, man, I’m sorry!”

He reached down to help the guy up but his hand fell to his side because the guy slowly picking his way off the ground was _Enjolras_.

Grantaire stared at him, he who had appeared like an apparition, because _of course_. Of course the one place where Grantaire had gone to forget himself would be the one place where he ran into Enjolras. “What are you doing here?” he asked, not even caring if he sounded rude.

Enjolras blinked. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said mildly. “I volunteer at the clinic a few streets over.”

Frowning, Grantaire wracked his brain for any mention of Enjolras volunteering, sure that he would have made mental note of it somewhere, then hid a chuckle of realization. “You mean you’re serving your community service over there. Man, that judge must have really hated you to send you to this part of town. They’d eat you alive over here.” He paused, then winked and added conspiratorially, “Not that I’d blame them, of course.”

“Ha, ha,” Enjolras said sarcastically, but he looked curious. “Well, now you know why I’m here, but what are you doing in this part of town?”

Grantaire’s eyes slid away from Enjolras just as the smile slid off of his face. “Ah, you know,” he said uneasily, fingers twitching toward his pocket. “Just, uh, on the way back to my apartment.”

“And you decided to make a detour through this place because…?” Enjolras asked, his tone of voice indicating that he clearly didn’t buy Grantaire’s explanation. Grantaire swallowed, hard, and Enjolras’s face softened. “There’s a really good cafe not too far from here. Why don’t we get a cup of coffee and talk or something?”

Grantaire glanced up at him, surprised. “You want to get a cup of coffee? With…me?”

Enjolras smiled slightly. “Yes. And talk.” Grantaire was so dazed that he allowed Enjolras to grab his elbow and steer him to the cafe, sitting across from him and ordering a coffee automatically. Then Enjolras looked at him seriously. “So.”

Blinking, Grantaire seemed to come back to himself. “So,” he repeated, waiting for Enjolras to continue.

Enjolras sighed. “What were you doing here, Grantaire? And don’t tell me it was on the way to your apartment because it isn’t. I know what kind of things go on in this part of town, and I thought…”

He trailed off uncertainly and Grantaire asked hoarsely, “You thought what?”

Flushing slightly, Enjolras said quietly, “I thought you had quit.”

Grantaire’s mouth went dry. He had never told Enjolras about that part of his past, had never told anyone except for Jehan. Which reminded Grantaire of a day in the Musain, maybe a year ago now. The conversation during their meeting had somehow turned to the subject of drug addiction and the problems that created in an urban environment.

Combeferre and Enjolras were trying to determine any plausible course of action to address the problem, which was different from their usual targets. Joly had been expounding on a new research study showing that the cost of drugs had decreased significantly. Courfeyrac had nudged Grantaire, grinning. “Man, why bother with the booze when you can get smack for cheaper, am I right?”

Grantaire stared at him, his pulse suddenly racing, and he felt sick, physically ill, torn between wanting to cry or scream or deck Courfeyrac in his smug face because _what did he know about it_? Instead, he looked wildly around for Jehan, who looked horrified, and, after meeting his eyes briefly, fled, fled before the panic and anxiety that had pitted in his stomach could bubble to the surface, and he managed to get all the way out of the Musain to the alley that ran behind it before he threw up, emptied his stomach of its contents and then slid to the ground, shaking like a leaf.

Jehan joined him not even moments later, and sat down next to him, holding him in his arms as he shook. “It’s ok,” Jehan whispered, over and over and over again. “It’s ok.”

Needless to say, the subject of drug addiction had not been one brought up in the broader Amis meetings (though who was to say whether the triumvirate discussed it on their own). Grantaire had always assumed that it had been logic that told them to drop the subject, but looking at Enjolras, looking at the understanding written all over his face, he knew that wasn’t it. “Jehan told you,” he said, softly, not accusing, just stating facts. Then, after another moment - “No, Jehan told _Combeferre_ , didn’t he?”

“We were worried.” Enjolras didn’t try to duck the truth or even explain it away, and for that, Grantaire was bizarrely grateful.

Still, Grantaire sighed and shook his head. “I’m going to have to talk to Jehan about thinking with things other than his head.”

Enjolras snorted. “Right, because you wouldn’t know _anything_ about that.”

Grantaire gasped and clutched his heart. “What’s this? Did you make a joke? Did you actually make a sarcastic, sardonic comment for the sake of hilarity? Good god, what did they _do_ to you in that clinic?”

Blushing slightly, Enjolras snapped, “Very funny.” He looked carefully at Grantaire and stated again, “So you did. Quit. Right?”

“I did,” Grantaire whispered.

“Then why—”

Wordlessly, Grantaire slid the baggie across the table to Enjolras, who covered it with his hand, looking part stricken, part confused, and part closed-off. After a long moment, Grantaire dug in his other pocket and slid his NA chip across the table to Enjolras. “It’s been two years, today,” he said softly, looking out the window of the cafe. “Two years, and they say it’s supposed to get easier but I swear to god I want it as much now as I used to.” He chanced a glance at Enjolras and laughed, a dry, nervous, humorless laugh. “Of course, I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you, that you now just have further evidence of how useless and weak I am.”

“You’re not weak.” Enjolras’s voice was sharp, and Grantaire glanced at him, surprised to see the intensity that radiated from him. Enjolras held his gaze as he added in a softer tone, “You’re so much stronger than you realize, than you give yourself credit for. And you’re not…Grantaire, you’re not useless.” He broke off and Grantaire was surprised to see a look similar to shame flush across his face. “I…I know I’ve insinuated that in the past, but you…you’re not useless, Grantaire. The you with this white powder in your veins…he’s useless.”

“He’s not me,” Grantaire said softly, idly tracing a pattern on the table with his fingertip. “That’s sort of the whole point, to get out of my head for awhile, to not be me for awhile.”

Enjolras’s eyes met his. “Which is exactly why _you’re_ not useless.”

There were a thousand things more that could have been said between them, but instead, Grantaire found himself unable to hold Enjolras’s gaze and so ducked his head and dropped his eyes to his lap, where his hands were twisting his napkin nervously. “So what are you going to do, Enj?” he asked, sounding as exhausted as he suddenly felt. “Are you going to confiscate my drugs and tell me that I’ve been a bad boy and that I need to try harder?”

Enjolras frowned just slightly. “Of course not. This is your choice, Grantaire. This is your life.”

Grantaire felt his mouth fall open in shock. “You mean…you’d let me take drugs without trying to dissuade me from doing so?”

Now Enjolras’s frown deepened. “What exactly do you think I’ve been doing for the past half hour?” When Grantaire didn’t answer, still gaping at him, Enjolras leaned forward. “Look, I may not know exactly what you’re going through, but working at the clinic has taught me that if this is what you want, if this is really what you want, you will do anything you can to do it. So me taking the drugs away from you won’t stop you. Not if this is what you really want. And because I have no idea what you’d be willing to do to get more, I would never put you through that.” He paused, letting Grantaire mull that over for a moment, then said softly, “But if you choose this, you’re going to come home with me. And we will stop by the needle exchange on the way. And you will do what you need to do at mine, so that I can watch you.”

The words “so that I can take of you” hung in the air, unsaid.

Grantaire felt winded. This was the complete opposite of how he had imagined this conversation happening when he had bumped into Enjolras. “Why…” he started, his voice cracking, and he flushed slightly and looked down. “Why would you do that? Why would you _let_ me do that?”

Enjolras didn’t answer until Grantaire glanced up at him. “Because if I let you go I would worry about you all night.” His voice was quiet but matter of fact. “Because I would probably just end up following you anyway to make sure nothing happened to you. And because frankly, my apartment is a lot more comfortable than yours.”

Looking down at the table again, staring at the grain of the wood as if it magically had all the answers, Grantaire heard himself ask, “And what if I don’t want to do it?”

“Then I would still want you to come back to my apartment tonight.” Enjolras’s answer was quick and honest and warmed Grantaire inside even as he closed his eyes, letting Enjolras’s voice wash over him as he continued, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I don’t think you should be alone right now. You can come back with me and we can call Jehan, if you want, or someone else, but…”

“No.” Grantaire didn’t mean for his voice to sound as harsh as it did, and he winced slightly. “I mean, going back to yours is fine. Really.”

A genuine smile broke out on Enjolras’s face and he nodded, though his expression quickly turned pensive. “What, uh, what do you want me to do with these?”

Grantaire’s gaze flickered down to Enjolras’s hand and then away. He shrugged. “Get rid of them, I suppose.”

Enjolras nodded. “Will you be alright here for the moment?”

Forcing a smile onto his face, Grantaire looked up at Enjolras. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

With another nod, Enjolras stood, heading to the bathroom, presumably to dump the drugs. Grantaire sighed and put his head in his hands, trying to ignore the way they shook. “This was absolutely the right thing for him to do. Why, then, did he feel like running after Enjolras, like ripping the baggie out of his hand?

He didn’t.

And he supposed for that he should have been glad, or proud, or something. Mostly he just felt kind of numb.

When Enjolras returned, Grantaire forced the smile back on to his face and Enjolras paused, setting his hand on the back of his chair. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” he remarked mildly. “Pretend, I mean. I think we’re…kind of beyond that, now.”

After a long moment, Grantaire’s face relaxed into a far more natural expression. “Thank you,” he murmured, looking up at him. “For…well, for everything.”

“Not a problem,” Enjolras assured him. “Are you ready?”

Grantaire stood. “Absolutely.”

* * *

 

That night found Grantaire and Enjolras both on Enjolras’s couch, arguing good-naturedly over the news. They had gotten take-out and even though on the walk back they managed to argue about everything from which route was the best to take to get back to Enjolras’s to whether the country was taking the best option with Syria, it was a genial sort of arguing.

With the news over, Enjolras stretched and yawned. “You can take the bed,” he told Grantaire. “I’ve slept on this couch often enough, I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t kick you out of your bed,” Grantaire protested halfheartedly. “You’ve already done so much for me; that would hardly be fair.” He managed to wink at Enjolras. “And ordinarily, I’d suggest we share it, but…”

Enjolras laughed breathily, but his eyes were dark. “Ordinarily?” he asked mildly, and Grantaire was suddenly very aware of how close they were.

His breath seemed to stick in his throat and he just managed to stammer, “Enjolras…” before Enjolras had leaned in, kissing him lightly.

Grantaire closed his eyes and kissed him back for a brief moment, knowing that this was everything he had ever wanted, but knowing this was everything he couldn’t have at the moment. He pulled away for just a moment, resting his forehead against Enjolras’s as he breathed, “Hey, wait a second.”

“Grantaire, what…?” Enjolras started, and Grantaire sighed and closed his eyes, drawing on whatever strength he had left.

“I can’t, Enjolras. _We_ can’t.”

Enjolras froze. “Oh,” he said softly, starting to pull away, but Grantaire held him firmly, his hand gripping the base of Enjolras’s skull.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Grantaire told him, running his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, feeling their noses brush together. “It’s just that…now is not a good time for me.”

Enjolras closed his eyes and nodded briefly. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered, pulling away. “I shouldn’t have…I mean, this was really stupid of me.”

“Hey,” Grantaire said concernedly, touching Enjolras’s hand. “Don’t be sorry. Trust me - do _not_ be sorry for that, ok? Just…give me some time to get my head on straight. Or as straight as it’s ever gonna get, I suppose.”

Enjolras half-smiled at that and nodded again. “Ok. I can do that.” He sat back on the couch, eyes watching Grantaire as he stood to head to Enjolras’s bedroom. “Goodnight, Grantaire.”

Grantaire smiled at him. “Goodnight Enjolras. And thank you. Still. For everything.”

Then he disappeared into Enjolras’s bedroom, to lie down on Enjolras’s bed, to try and calm his racing heartbeat. This day had certainly _not_ turned out the way that he had imagined.

* * *

 

The next morning, Grantaire woke to the smell of pancakes, and stumbled blearily from Enjolras’s bedroom, his mind still reeling from the events from the day before. Enjolras glanced over at him. “Good morning,” he said, turning back to the stove. “I hope you don’t mind pancakes. I…pretty much can’t cook anything else.”

“Pancakes are fine,” Grantaire laughed, sitting down at Enjolras’s table. He ate hungrily, and swigged coffee like a man dying of thirst.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t have to eat so quickly,” he said mildly, taking a sip of his own coffee.

Grantaire swallowed and gave him an apologetic smile. “I know. I just…I should get to Jehan’s sooner than later. He’ll worry, and he won’t believe I’m fine until he sees me.”

Enjolras nodded, leaning back in his chair, his eyes flickering down his coffee. “You know, I meant what I said yesterday.”

“Which part of what you said yesterday?” Grantaire teased lightly.

Enjolras’s eyes met his. “All of it.”

Grantaire blushed slightly and looked down. “Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse from the sudden lump in his throat. He reached out tentatively, running his fingers across the back of Enjolras’s hand, touching him lightly.

His fingers did not shake.

“You have been a tremendously good friend to me these past eighteen or so hours.” Grantaire’s voice was light but sincere. “And I truly cannot thank you enough for that. And for…for everything else.”

Enjolras turned his hand over, closing his fingers around Grantaire’s, just for a brief moment. “I meant that part, too. When you’re ready. I’ll be here.”

Grantaire nodded and slowly pulled his hand away, standing and heading toward the door. “I’ll see you at the meeting on Wednesday.”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, smiling slightly. “Oh, and Grantaire?” Grantaire turned, frowning slightly, and just barely caught whatever Enjolras threw at him, surprised to find it was his NA chip. He had forgotten about it over the course of…well, of everything that had happened last night. Enjolras smiled at him. “Two years and one day.”

Grantaire half-smiled and pocketed the chip. He gave Enjolras a little wave, not trusting himself to speak, and slipped outside, his step feeling lighter than it had in days, weeks even.

Two years and one day.

And many more to come.


End file.
